In Another Life
by SaturnineSunshine
Summary: How Chuck and Blair keep meeting in different times as in era because of course they are destined to be together. Chapter 5 reuploaded.
1. The Roaring 20's

**A/N**: This is the first chapter of my new fic. I've been writing many multi fics, lately. It's Chuck and Blair in their past lives, how they find each other each time because they're soulmates. This was my first one, and it may not be very good, but I have better ones coming up. Each story takes place in a different era. They aren't given names and only referred to by the pronouns "he" and "she" because they would have had different names in their part lives. It's also because they are described by their characteristics and they could have any name. I hope I haven't made it too confusing. This one is supposed to slightly mirror _Victor, Victrola_. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

**Disclaimer**: All rights of course go to Gossip Girl, the CW, and the people who created them. I would like to thank Katelyn for helping me with the era of the Roaring 20's to get most of it right. The only other research I did for this piece was watching "Thoroughly Modern Millie" and _Chicago_ (the movie.)

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He smirked. It felt good to smirk. It was his signature expression. But he found that he was smiling more and more now. Not just smirking, but… smiling. If anyone told him that he would be smiling—because of a girl, no less—he would have asked what they were on, and could he have two of them.

The place smelled like it always had, like it always would be. 80 years from now when they turned it into a burlesque club or something, it would still have the same scent of booze and cigarettes.

He loved it. This was his world. He owned it. Everyone knew his name and the power he held. Everyone knew his influence and respected him for it… even if they were a little afraid as well.

He straightened his white jacket as he walked in the place. His place. He caught his dark and angular reflection in the mirror above the bar. His smooth appearance was just one of his trademarks.

As soon as the bartender saw him, he was immediately made his scotch. He eased into the seat next to her; the woman who was the source of his smirking. She pretended to not notice him, but he recognized the stiffness in her posture, the tenseness in her shoulders. It could not be seen by the naked eye, but he knew her better than anyone.

He knew the effect he had on her. More importantly, he was painfully aware of the effect she had on him. He took an easy sip of the amber liquid that burned down his throat as the band struck up her favorite jazz tune. He knew her so well.

_Chicago, Illinois, 1922_

_Establishment of the youngest speakeasy owner in history_

He wondered how long she could hold out. He assumed it would be awhile. After all, she was his perfect match, and he could hold out for hours. He watched her tap the ash of her expensive French cigarette on the ash tray in front of her.

She had a pull for him that he couldn't explain. He should have realized it sooner, when he first met her. He thought that she was just another broad with nice legs. But even now, he could recognize what he felt that first time. The first time he saw her on stage. The first time she rebuffed him with her wit. From then on, he was a goner.

She would come her more and more often, but she didn't used to. This wasn't the first place they met, but he wanted it to be the place that she would stay. She wasn't flighty by nature, but she was unpredictable. She liked putting on the façade that she was completely put together and pristine. That didn't really coincide with her alter ego. It didn't really agree with her when the whole place saw that beautiful flapper take the stage.

When he walked into that place, he had planned on buying it out. He bought his first place when he was 16—with the help of his father, of course. Now, he was the youngest ever in history to own a bar of any sort. But this place was his favorite. It was his first. Just like her. She was his first, in a way. The first to capture his cold, black heart.

He walked into that joint on the pretense of flaunting his money, letting everyone now who he was, because everyone knew his name. To say he got side tracked would be an understatement.

He wasn't really looking at the stage at first. All those flappers were all the same. He had ordered his standard scotch, as usual. That was when his life changed drastically.

Against the backdrop of the rest of the shiny flappers, she didn't stand out to anyone but him. She was in the throng of many. But he could see her. She stood out for him, unlike any of the others. They were just doing the normal moves that he had seen a hundred times over.

It was like the light was shining on her. Her silvery frays danced around her as she spun. Only reflecting now he could see what it was. It was her eyes. Her onyx eyes that showed him something he never thought he would see. Emotions burned in them. she was beautiful and flirtatious and lively. He had never met any one like her.

He realized this especially when he talked to her for the first time after the show. She raised her eyes to his with a superior air and smug look while she verbally barbed him. No one had ever done that. No one would dare. From then on, he couldn't look away from her. He wouldn't be able to stand it.

"Have you considered my offer?" he leaned in close to her and whispered darkly into her ear, not able to ignore her fragrant scent.

She finally swiveled to face him. Her face betrayed no emotion as she took him in.

"Oh, I've considered it," she finally replied, pushed her bobbed curls away from her face.

"And what's your answer?" he asked.

"I already told you my answer," she reminded him.

"Not that answer," he shook his head, smirking playfully.

"What other answer is there?" she asked, complying with his badinage.

"The right one," he supplied smugly. With that she rolled her eyes. But he did catch the way her mouth twitched at the corners. He knew her well enough to know she was hiding a smile.

"You're a little too egotistical for your own good," she retorted.

"Actually, I'm a lot egotistical," he corrected. "It's better when you just admit the truth to yourself. Like how you want to say yes."

"And why would I do that?" she asked in a hushed whisper.

"Because it's a smart move," he answered, leaning back confidently. He took another sip. She followed suit and took a pull from her silver flask. He smirked. She was so convinced that everyone thought she was perfect. Well, everyone did. He was the only one who saw the real her, no matter how much she didn't want to admit it.

"I'm fine where I am," she said. He couldn't help but notice how she wouldn't reach his eyes.

"Really?" he asked. He couldn't think of a better response. But he knew he was headed in the right direction. He had been pursuing her for a while now and he was wearing her down. It wasn't really something he was accustomed to.

Women usually didn't evade him at all. He had never tried to "woo" a woman before. They just fell into his lap. Figuratively and literally speaking. But when the occasional woman did not respond to his advances, he just moved onto the next one.

That was the problem with her… and him. He just couldn't let her go. He had never felt this way before and it was strange for him, but came naturally in a strange way. Chasing her came naturally to him, like he had done it before.

He could tell that she wasn't used to this sort of attention, either, though he couldn't fathom why. She was the most desirable woman he had ever met. He could tell that she wasn't used to feeling beautiful. He would make her feel beautiful.

She just spared him a look of disdain. She really was perfecting those hateful glares.

"You can honestly tell me you are perfectly content at dancing at some low rent bar for the rest of your life?" he asked softly.

"As opposed to dancing at this low rent bar?" she quipped.

"You wound my pride," he held his hand to his chest in mock pain.

"You can buy that place easily, what do you want from me?" she asked seriously.

"Only what I've already told you," he matched her tone. "I want you to work here." He didn't know why he was so sold on the idea. Maybe it was the fact that he loved this place as much as he loved himself—which was a lot. He wanted to merge the two things that he loved most in the world (besides his own self absorption.) He didn't like using the term "love" for a woman. He wasn't even sure if that was he was feeling—he had never felt it before. But he was certain that if he wasn't already, this was as close as he was going to get.

He wanted her to work in his favorite building because it was an easy way for an excuse that he could see her all the time. He wouldn't have to travel all the way out to that rival establishment to see her. And she was right, he could just buy it. But he wanted her here, with him.

He didn't think he was ready to put it all on the line—to tell her his true feelings. He had never done that either, because he was convinced he didn't really have any. That was, he was convinced of that until he met her and his world came crashing around his ears.

"You can't own people," she snapped. He held back a smirk. She was finally reacting to him. This was a good sign. "Just because you have money, doesn't mean you own everything."

"You have money too," he reminded her. she rolled her eyes. "And you could have more."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I'm just reminding you how beneficial working here would be," he said simply.

"Like what?" she pressed. He hid a smirk. He knew she didn't like being kept in the dark. She was a need to know person.

"Everyone knows I take care of my own," he answered. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm not one of your gangster friends," she replied. He smirked. It was true, he wasn't in the most honest of businesses, and she was the only one who didn't really seem to care.

"You'll be safe if you're here…" he left off the end of his sentence. _With me_.

"I didn't know my life was in some impending danger," she retorted.

"It's not," he shrugged. "But instead of wondering when your next job is, or if you're going to eat next month, you could have a steady life here." _With me_. He had to stop that.

"You forget that I'm as well off as you," she reminded him. He hadn't forgotten. It was one of her charms. He liked that she knew the lifestyle that he indulged in.

"You don't want me here," she replied, more to herself.

"Yes, I do," he said with conviction leaning into her again. This time she didn't waver. She just glared deep into his eyes. Those looks she gave him set him on fire.

"So tell me something," he interrupted her next thought. She looked at him warily, like she was almost afraid of breaking. It hadn't occurred to him what she might be feeling. He knew that she was a master at hiding her emotions, as well as he was, but he didn't think that she was afraid like he was. He didn't think that she was afraid of being broken. If could never forgive himself if he ever broke her.

"If you are so satisfied with your life as a flapper," he mused, "why are you here all the time?" She blanched. There it was. "You could be traveling with all your new found savings and new inheritance. You could move to Manhattan or get your own show. Why are you sitting alone at the bar with a," he smirked at her, "gangster." He annunciated the last word with clarity.

"I don't know," she said softly after a hesitation. He studied her for a second. He definitely had misjudged her.

After the moment where she had caught him off gaurd, he realized he was sitting alone. She had left in a hurry. He didn't know how he felt about that. He knew why people ran. People ran mainly when they were afraid. He knew why he ran. He would run when he was afraid of letting people get too close. He wasn't used to unconditional love and he didn't even think that was what this was. It was… inevitability.

She knew this place. As successful as it was during the day, it simply thrived at night. That was strange considering only the people with questionable nature came out at night. She couldn't count the number of times she had seen him making deals around this hour.

So why was she here? He was right when he asked her why she came here all the time. She simply didn't know. He would use words like "inevitable" and "amazing." (She didn't think he could really be talking about here, though. That didn't seem like it described her.)

But the real reason, she was beginning to realize, that she kept coming back wasn't for the performances or high quality bootlegged booze (because no one could import the good stuff like he could.) It was for him. That heinous, nauseating, playboy of a gangster was why she kept coming back time after time.

She had never felt anything like she had felt when she was with him. He made her feel desired and needed. But she supposed that was how he made all those girls feel. And then he would kick them out of his bed just as fast.

She didn't like being used. She had enough of it when her seemingly perfect boyfriend had cheated on her with some leggy blonde. She didn't want to be broken again, but that seemed like a high possibility whenever she was with _him_.

He was a beautiful specimen. He had hard angles to his face that didn't seem attractive at first, but when you were around him more and more you realized that he was just gorgeous. His distinctive nose, distinguished eye brows, leering, slanting, exotic eyes were just the beginning. It was his smug smirk that always seemed to pull her in. He looked at her like he had known her for lifetimes. She couldn't help but feeling the same way when she looked into his dangerous dark eyes that so matched her own.

He knew too much. He was too knowledgeable about her. She didn't like it. She was supposed to be perfect and put together. Somehow he brought the wildness out in her.

She didn't used to be a flapper. But she arrived in Chicago and everything was so different from where she was from. The liquor and jazz was exhilarating. She found friends here and she was pulled into a world that was different, but sort of similar to something that she couldn't place.

Then she met him. She could pick him immediately out in the crowd. He just had a presence. The crowd would part for him like the Red Sea and she knew he was important. He wasn't important just because he had money and power. He was important because he was special. She saw something in him that she shouldn't have. He came off as a self absorbed jerk, but there was something so similar in him to her that she couldn't let him go.

That was probably a bad idea. But she found that all of her logical decision making skills vanished whenever she was ever in the slightest proximity of him. He had an effect on her that she couldn't push away like other men.

She could make men feel inadequate and small with the slightest look. But he never backed down. In fact, whenever she demeaned him, he seemed to be provoked. More and more, she was thinking about how he was her perfect match in every way. Yes, that was definitely a bad idea.

When he approached her that night, she had already seen him. He was hard to miss, obviously. But she knew she had to protect herself. She was just another girl to him, another fun time. She was done with men treating her in that fashion.

She rebuffed him in the only way she knew how. She insulted him with barbed banter about how his outfit was ostentatious and how it seemed utterly ridiculous that he ever found time to run a business with all the drunken blonde women who seemed to fall into his lap.

She ignored the attraction she felt for him and the electricity she felt when he gave her that leering look, and just walked away. She thought she had rid of him, no matter what sort of appeal he held for her. She was wrong.

He came by that joint every day, just watching her. She made a decision that he was completely creepy. And it seemed strange how he actually seemed to enjoy their conversations. He liked to battle his wit against hers (which they seemed to match blow for blow.)

He introduced himself with that smug look. He thought she had no idea who he was. That was preposterous. Of course she knew. She knew everything. But no matter how much she insulted him and through careful practiced and lovingly crafted badinage at him, he would not relent.

How she ended up at his place that night was beyond her. She was finding herself falling to his wile charms and she hated herself for it. She was falling into the same trap that every woman in Chicago was. It was disgusting.

But she couldn't help but feel treasured whenever he looked at her. She had never felt that way about anyone. Already that night, it seemed an inevitability that she would relent to him. She didn't want to admit it. She was the ice queen. Nothing broke through her façade. Nothing phased her mask except him.

It was dark then, well after midnight. She never told him this, but she really liked his place in the dark. There was a dangerous ominous quality to it that no one really understood. No one understood her like he did.

She walked up behind him. His back was to her, on the couch in the middle of the room. The table in front of him held a motionless victrola. She had seen it in motion, but not many people had. This was a boozing establishment and the only music that was usually heard was the jazz band. But then again, no one had heard him play the piano either. She didn't even think that he knew she was standing there.

He straightened immediately. He knew there was something different about tonight. He hadn't realized what it was until now. He hadn't realized what it was until her intoxicating scent had reached him.

"Why don't you take a seat," he said smugly, not bothering to face her.

"I'd rather stand," she said with superiority. He finally looked at her. The soft late night jazz filtered through the room. Few couples were dancing to the music. He rose to his feet, taking her in.

There was definitely something different about tonight. It was like the first time he saw her. There was clarity and a real quality to her that had ensnared her the first time.

She rounded the couch, standing on the edge of the floor. He found himself on his feet. She didn't like how things just happened to her. She had always been a romantic, and she knew it. She had always wanted to be swept off her feet but this was entirely different.

He was smooth, she had to admit. She didn't know how, but his hand found hers in something that felt natural. She had never shared more than a drink or a smoke with this man and he was touching her like he had known her forever.

And she let him. His breath brushed gently against her cheek. It just all seemed so right. She couldn't put it together. He was all wrong. He was illegal, dark, and dangerous. He could get arrested any day for the things he was doing. She should smack him for being so forward with her. But instead, she just let him hold her. she didn't want to be without someone anymore. She didn't want to be without him anymore. She didn't want to feel lost. And that's exactly what he did to her. He made her feel whole again. She didn't feel scrutinized and studied for her next fault.

His warm hand steadied on her back. She just put her own hands on his broad shoulders, unaware of what she was supposed to do; what was supposed to happen.

"Do you have the right answer, yet?" he prodded playfully. She wanted to tell him "yes." Yes, she had never felt more alive than when he looked at her. Yes, she wanted to be here, no matter how against her morals it was. Yes, she wanted to be wrong for once. But maybe, if this was dirty and shameful, she didn't want to be right.

"You don't take no for an answer," she whispered back. It seemed like such an intimate environment that she didn't want to ruin it.

"I can be patient." _Can_ be. He usually wasn't. But for her, he could make an exception.

"You're too arrogant for your own good," she responded lightly, connecting it to that very day. It wouldn't be a good day unless he was reprimanded by her. She reminded him 10 times a day that he was arrogant, heinous, narcissistic, and nauseating. He wouldn't have it any other way.

"Soon you'll come around to my way of thinking." His inner monologue wasn't as confident as his actual tone. They found that they were swaying comfortably to the smooth music. She didn't like how her fingers were instinctively twining in his hair at the back of his head. It felt too comfortable. She felt like she had just met him and she was falling dangerously.

"What if I didn't?" she asked.

"What?" He hoped the fear wasn't apparent in his voice.

"What if I didn't come to work for you?" she made it clearer. She was very aware of the sudden tenseness in his shoulders.

"What if I…" she continued. "What if I was just… here?"

"…Meaning?" he asked, curious. He gazed into her midnight eyes. They were so full of secrets yet they were so open and vulnerable.

"I wouldn't have to work here. I could get jobs wherever I wanted. But I could still be… here…" she stated, "with you." He couldn't break the stare. He hadn't expected this to happen. He had expected to have to use his powers of persuasion to get her to even stay an hour.

He leaned in so their cheeks were touching gently. He tried desperately not to inhale her essence. He whispered her name huskily.

"You were… amazing up there," he confided in her. She struggled to regulate her breathing. Of course she remembered. He was the only one looking at her. There was something in his wonderfully dark eyes that she couldn't place. She didn't know if it was lust or desire. Since she met him, she didn't know anything anymore.

She pulled away from their embrace. He tried his best to ignore the sudden spike in his adrenaline. If she just left him now, he didn't know what he would do. He would feel totally lost.

She pressed her lips against his. He was taken aback. He took a hesitant step backwards, taking her with him. It took all of his self control not to take her right there. They broke away from the gentle embrace. He took her silky shoulders in his hands, breathing her in.

"You sure?" She answered him with a heated kiss.

_"They all used to here, back in the day. Gangsters, fighters,musicians. Dangerous folks, no doubt. But they had style. Something tells me you'd fit right in."_

_- Horace Rogers_

_--Chuck in Real Life_

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While editing my fics, I realized thatI forgot something when I submitted this. The only thing I added was the quote at the end. That was when Chuck was going to buy a speakeasy and the owner commented on how much Chuck was like the people who would come to the speakeasy. I thought it was fitting.

--C


	2. The French Revolution

A/N: This is the best past life chapter I've written so far. I'm not sure how much this is out of character, but I tried to make it as much obvious Chuck- Blair as possible. I'm not sure when I'll update again, I gues I'm just waiting for inspiration to hit. Enjoy.

Discalimer: I don't own GG, though I am excited for Chuck to go looking for Blair this Monday. The only research I did for this piece was watching _Marie Antoinette_ and reading A Tale of Two Cities. Sorry for any inaccuracies.

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He could hear it from outside of his dank window. The mob was coming. He knew they would be coming for awhile. The king and queen remained oblivious. They sent funds to America. They were so removed from the starvation and poverty that they didn't know it was there. It wasn't like he cared that much about the poor. They were people too, but there was only one person who was deamed so crucial that she was forever embedded in his mind.

He was only aware of this situation because his golden sister had become charitable recently. So charitable that she had actually fallen for one of them.

The mob was getting louder. He could see the glowing from the torches by now. He knew this would be his final resting place. That much didn't really matter. All that mattered was that she was far away. She was one of the queen's mistresses. She was safe in their haven, no matter how far away from him she was. She was better that way. She was safer.

He looked one more time outside of the Bastille. He knew judgment day was coming.

_July 14, 1789, Versailles, France_

_The Storming of the Bastille_

The six other inmates in the cell were unaware. They actually deserved to be in here. Not that he didn't, but he wasn't like them. He was a courtier. But the knowledge of that was going to kill him. As long as she was far away, he would be fine. As long as she was safe, he would be fine.

The shouting of the mob grew louder. He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining her face. Her radiant face that simply glowed when he looked upon it. Her trill of laughter in the ball room. The way her skirts flowed as she spun. The way she purred his name.

With the clanging of the cell door being ripped from its hinges, his eyes snapped open. This was it. The desperate expressions of the poverty stricken French made him tense. Would his head rot on a spike like the rest of them?

He squinted against the torches. He hadn't seen light in so long. The person with a battle axe started towards him. He wouldn't be a coward. He sat strong, waiting for his demise. He waited for his demise that never came.

Instead of cutting him down, the axe was hefted to the other hand and he was helped to his feet. He just stood, looking in confusion at the throng of people surrounding him. The other inmates crowded towards the gaping hole as he just stood there. His mind went blank at the situation.

He was told he was free. That's when it hit him. These people took him for one of them. They didn't know his status. For once, he was glad. For the first time, it had saved his life.

He stumbled outside, looking behind him. He watched what had been his residence for months be dismantled. Stones were thrown and the Bastille came crashing down.

He walked in a haze. Everything was so surreal. Flames erupted everywhere. Screams of triumph and glee filled the air. These were the people who caused him harm. These were the people who would decapitate him if they knew who he was.

He could smell death on the air. It was almost suffocating. His eyes rose and that's when he saw it. Seven heads rose on spikes. Seven heads who he could have known. Seven heads that he could have drank with. Seven heads that could have been his family.

He looked down at his attire. He was still dressed in black from his father's funeral. He hadn't even had time to change when they hauled him off to the dungeon. He hadn't even had time to say goodbye.

He walked unsteadily through the square. It was all chaos. His legs were weak beneath him. He barely had any nourishment in there. He spent the majority of his days slumped against that stone, uncomfortable wall.

He wouldn't change it for the world. He wouldn't have sold out her reputation for his freedom, no matter what she thought of him now. The last time he saw her they were not on the greatest of terms. He called her cruel things. He had accosted her harshly. But he had done this for her. He had given himself up for her.

At first, he thought it was a hallucination. It was his name whispered on the breeze. He heard it louder this time. He heard the sound of the angels. His name was said with more conviction this time.

He turned around slowly, not wanting to crush his fantasy of what might be standing there. And there she was. There stood his tragically beautiful lover. Her once elegant gown hung in tatters off her slender frame. Her chocolate curls streamed down her back. Grime covered her face, streaked by her tears. Time seemed to slow. The gentle wind lifted her curls from her face.

Her eyes cast the rest in shadow. Her face lit up as he met her gaze. Her vibrant dark eyes shone through the devastation.

The fire illuminated her face, casting wonderful colors across it. It reminded him of the sun. He thought of when he used to wake up to the sunrise, with her by his side. The sun cast her porcelain skin into a golden glow. Her tousled curls lay sprawled across his pillow.

That was how it used to be. But it didn't matter how it was now. Because suddenly she was in his arms again, their bodies crushed together amidst the destruction. He wound his fingers in her hair, pulling her into him. Her arms surrounded his shoulders. It had been months since he tasted her sweet lips against his. It had been more than a year since he felt her body tremble underneath his in ecstasy. It was a year too long.

She buried her face in his neck. He felt the warm trickle of her tears seeping into his old grimy shirt. He pulled here away instantly, a glaring look boring into her eyes.

"What do you think you're doing here?" he demanded.

"Looking for you," she said tearfully. He kissed her face fiercely, riding the moisture from her face.

"This is dangerous," he broke away from her again. "Look how you're dressed. They would immediately know that you're aristocratic."

"I had help," she said. His eyes narrowed.

"My sister?" he asked. She nodded. They both knew that his sister's recent infatuation was frowned upon. Her poor charity case had helped his one true love find him, and for that he was grateful. But he could kill him for putting her in such danger.

"How did you know," he asked, "that the Bastille was being stormed?" She looked up with a mischievous glint to her eyes.

"Like I said," she said, "I had help."

"You could have been killed," he murmured desperately into her hair.

"I didn't care," she whispered. "I don't care."

"Well, you should," he snapped. She didn't even flinch.

"Are you going to push me away again?" she asked softly. His anger at her danger vanished. Her eyes weren't hurt. They were confident.

They weren't like that night, after his father had died. He made her cry that night. He was convinced that everything he touched withered and died. He couldn't let someone as pure and beautiful as her waste away like he was. He pushed her away and disappeared forever.

He crushed her to his chest again. He couldn't let her go ever. He looked over her shoulder. Stones were coming down quickly. They were still in danger. Nothing had seemed to matter when he had seen her again. Amidst the dissolution of life as they knew it, nothing seemed to matter now that they were reunited.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to a deserted alley. He would never forgive himself if she died here because of him. She was very conspicuous but she didn't seem to care.

He pressed her against the stone wall and buried his face in her air. Above the smoke and smog that filled the air, he could still smell her distinctive sweet smell that always broke his resolve.

It was the scent that deemed her irresistible. He had tried to resist her. She was untouchable. She was a pure virgin. Yet somehow, she still wanted him. It was inconceivable.

He used to love watching her dance. Her face was full of joy and beauty as she twirled around the room. He would just stand in the corner, drinking. He could never keep his eyes of her. Maybe it was that she was off limits that made him want her all the more. Maybe he just wanted what he couldn't have. But he couldn't have anyone else, either.

He was known for his conquests. There were plenty of virgins he couldn't have. But he wanted her. Something pulled her to him that he couldn't explain.

She and his sister were the best of friends. It was she who kept the secret that his sister was having an affair with one of the rebels. How that poverty stricken traitor had betrayed him and his family and yet delivered his angel back to his side didn't make any sense.

He was lucky to have met her. His sister warned him against her. He didn't heed. He tried, but he just couldn't let it go. She just wasn't like the rest of them. She was unpredictable. She told people what she thought of them and retained her status unrepentantly. It was the life in her eyes. She made him feel something he thought was dead. She made him love her when he hadn't wanted to. She made him feel something until everything came crashing down around them.

First, it had been the obvious debt that France was crawling in. Their monarchy was blundering. It was only a matter of time before the economy liquidated. He just wished it hadn't been in that one perfect year that he never regretted. He just wished it wasn't when his father had died.

"You forgive me," he whispered huskily into her ear.

"I never blamed you," she whispered back. "It was my fault. You didn't have to be sent into that place. I could have saved you."

"No," he pulled away. "I wasn't going to risk your reputation for my freedom."

"I would have," she said quietly. "You're worth it."

"Don't," he said. "Don't say that. After everything I did to you." She just shook her head, that infuriating smile on her. That smile that said she knew him better than anyone. That smile was right.

He took her hands gently in his, kissing her left. He looked down and saw the token. The heart shaped ruby ring stayed solidly as ever on her finger.

"You kept it," he said. She looked down and smiled.

"I told you I would wait for you," she said.

"You couldn't have known I was coming back," he shook his head.

"I knew we would see each other again," she said confidently. "In the next life, if not this one."

That ring represented everything he ever wanted and everything he was convinced he was going to get. In simpler times when naivety was the spoken tongue, she was everything he was.

That ring represented his weakness. He couldn't leave her alone like his sister had begged him to. His sister knew his reputation, but she knew something much more dangerous. She knew that her dark brother was falling for his equal that was in the form of her best friend.

He didn't expect her to return his affections. He wasn't worthy of her. That was his entire life. His father was condescending and he never lived up to his potential. That was how he thought love worked. He thought he would vie for the attention of one person never to have it returned.

She taught him different. She taught him that he could love; that he was capable of it. He knew that she was his one and only.

He didn't know what she saw in him, but he was convinced that she deserved better. She was perfect in every way. He was just a pursuer. He didn't know what love was.

"How could you be so sure?" he wondered, mystified.

"Because things like this just don't happen," she reasoned. "I don't see all the beauty in the world just to have it taken away." He leaned his forehead against her, breathing her in. She was right. It was too good. The monarchy may crumble. Their way of life might deteriorate. But they were forever.

"Come with me," she held out her hand to him. "Please," she added. He smiled and took her dainty hand. He would follow her to the end of the world. And looking around, that's what it looked like it would be.

"Where are we going?" he asked. He realized that they were completely alone now.

"We have a passage out," she said, still pulling him along.

"I don't trust him," he said, referring to his sister's new friend. "He deliberately put you in danger."

"He didn't," she shook her head. "He said that the Bastille was being stormed. I knew I had to come. Your sister begged me not to, but I knew I had to. I couldn't leave you. Not now, not ever."

"You could have been caught," he said, thinking of the disaster that could have befallen her just because of him.

"No," she said with confidence. "That never would have happened. I had to save you. There was no way anything would have happened to me when I was coming for you."

"How can you believe that?" he asked, exasperated.

"I have faith," she smiled. "I knew we would find each other in the end." He smiled at her blind faith. He supposed in a way, he felt the same as well. That was why he wasn't afraid when he thought death was imminent. All he could think of was her.

He wasn't sure where they were going, but she seemed confident in their path. That's when he saw them. His golden haired sister and her beau. Maybe he wouldn't hate the cretin who had delivered his soul mate back to him, but it didn't mean that he would like it. This was still dangerous.

"Wait," he paused, holding her back from reaching her friend. She raised her curious wide eyes to his. He took her left ruby clad hand again.

"What I said, the first time we found each other…" he started. Her eyes lit up at the reference. She remembered. She would never forget. "I wasn't just saying that. I meant every word."

That had been the best night of his life. He hadn't expected her to come to him, but she had. He tried to push her away, like he always had, but she was persistent. He hadn't wanted to ruin her, but she didn't care. She wanted him. She had that blind faith that she still possessed after everything had happened.

She wanted to be with him. She wanted to love him. He had been with many women before her-- which she was aware of-- but not like her. She had promised herself to him and he could only do the same.

She seemed confident that they were the only ones for each other. He didn't know how she knew, but somehow, she just did. She saved him, in every way a person could be saved.

She promised her body and soul to him and he could only do the same. He gave her the ring that represented his love for her. He promised her his entire life to her.

He spent one blissful year with her in secret. It was everything to him. However, everyone knew about his conquests. His sister was off running around with God knows who and he wasn't seen with anyone. When their father died, everything went to hell.

He was accused certain attachments that he could only deny. He was accused of many things. Things that made sense when he inherited everything after his father's dead.

She could have protected him and would have. She would have given up everything to keep him safe; to keep him out of the dungeons. He refused for her to admit anything. He couldn't let her reputation be ruined by his weakness. He was sure he would meet his fate in there. He was sure he would never see her again.

The only thing he could do was push her away to save her. She could move on without him. It was worth that lifetime of happiness spent in only a matter of months.

But somehow, she knew. It made sense now. She had never given up on him no matter how much he hurt her. He never stopped loving her, either.

"When we get safe again, we'll do what we always said we would," he vowed. "When we get safe again, I'm going to marry you." She captured his mouth with hers. She never forgot him when he was in there. She knew it was only a matter of time before the prividlege was taken right from underneath him. It was hard. She was without him. The whole time he was in there, the country was crumbling. The poor were starving and the entire country was losing funds. It was all meaningless. All she wanted to know was that he was alright.

She knew he hadn't meant any of the things on the eve of his father's wake. She knew him better than anyone. He was broken and self loathing which he projected onto others. Everyone hated him for it. She just understood.

Her faith in his love for her may have wavered, but her faith that they would see each other again never did.

With their bodies taut against each other, she knew she never wanted anything else. His sister and the one who told her how to get safely to the Bastille were waiting. She didn't know if she could let go of him.

She broke away, kissing him one final time. They crossed the street to his family and their passage. His sister was all he had after their father's accident. He loved his family with a loyalty that never wavered.

She understood of that as she told her golden counterpart of her plan. She was aware of the immpending danger but she knew there was no other choice. There was just something that told her she would be alright. Time after time, they would always find each other.

"_There he would be. Amid all the fireworks on Bastille Day, all I could see was that... Chuck Bass-tard"_

_- Blair Waldorf_

_-- "Summer Kind of Wonderful"_


	3. Debutante Season

**A/N**: I originally thought I was going to have at least five chapters, but I think I'm only going to submit one more. This is an obvious referrence to Hi, Society. Hope you enjoy.

**Summary**: Love was in an ivory dress on the arm of a perfect man. Love was brunette with the deepest dark eyes that he had ever seen. Lively eyes that were livid one moment and ecstatic the next.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything from Gossip Girl

* * *

He straightened his white bow tie, looking throughout the crowd. He didn't have to look far. She is was the throng of it all, a vision of perfection, dressed in the uniform pristine white dress. He sighed as he watched his blonde counterpart with his gleaming white teeth and tie, his arm around her. With that picture, he couldn't help but smirking. He would right everything tonight. He couldn't break his gaze as they announced her name, along with her escort.

_Manhattan, New York, 1899_

_Debutante Season_

She ignored his leers all night. She tried to convince herself that it was embarassing. He was being so obvious. But really, all she could feel was flattered as his slanting, dark, exotic eyes appraised her.

She took a few deep breaths and continued smiling as her name was announced, as well as her escort. Her perfect escort. Technically she was with him... so why was a certain playboy still looking at her with desire in his eyes? That would have to stop. She had a reputation to protect.

"I'll be right back," her partner said.

"The dance isn't over," she warned. She wasn't going to be left in the middle of the dance floor, alone.

"Don't worry," he said with his usual oblivious smile. "Someone wants to dance with you." She was about to ask who when she found herself in the arms of that dangerous brunette who she couldn't seem to get rid of.

"Here I am," he said with a lecherous smile. She just rolled her eyes, not looking into the gaze that he wanted to trap her in. She let herself be guided around the floor with his expert foot work but she really shouldn't condone behavior such as this. She was supposed to be getting rid of him. But here in Manhattan, nothing really ever went according to plan.

"You don't seem so happy to see me," he teased. She didn't like the casual tone he was taking with her, like they were actually acquaintences. Even male friends didn't treat you with such nonchalance. But really, those didn't exist. Women didn't have male friends. They were either suitors or they weren't. He was very much not a suitor. He was dangerous. In reality, their relationship was much more complicated than that.

"Very perceptive tonight," she snapped, still not reaching his gaze. She was very aware of his palm pressed to her back. She tried not to breathe too deeply as to inhale his intoxicating scent which she still couldn't get out of her dreams.

"Well, I would have assumed that you would be ecstatic to see me again." She ignore his obvious allusion to the other night. She couldn't think about how she was marked as his now. She couldn't think about how she wanted it that way.

"And why would I be?" she sneered. "Your confidence is more like self absorption."

"There's only one thing I can assume that you're alluding to"-- she winced at how he seemed to read the phrases in her mind-- "but I was actually talking about how your escort has departed," he nodded his head towards his best friend. "Luckily I was here to save the day."

"Please," she scoffed. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I am more than aware of that," he smirked. "It's part of your charm." She didn't respond. She didn't want to provoke him. Last week she had been convinced he would treat her like the rest of them.

He was the self proclaimed playboy of Manhattan. His reputation thrived on bedding debutantes. Insipiant ditzes, all of them. They all wondered why he used them and split. That was just him. They used to enjoy each other's company. She used to take pride in the fact that their relationship wasn't based on sex and repuatations. They would scheme together, watch socialites fall so she was on top. He loved her pristine exterior when he was the only one who could see the reality underneath.

Things changed drastically that night. She didn't know what possessed her to kiss him, but she did. He seemed to awaken something in her. Something that should have stayed dormant.

She didn't like how he could see her. It made her feel vulnerable. But he was there. He was always there. She used to take pride in the fact that she was the only woman he had ever cared about. He didn't use and abuse her. They were actually... friends.

She had ruined that when she came to him. She knew he would understand her. He was the only one who did. She saw how her facade really masked the pain underneath. The pain that he knew all too well and masked with his own indifferent facade.

When she had gone there that night, she had just meant for him to comfort her, like he normally did when her mother critisized her and everyone noticed her blonde best friend and not the cold uppercrust bitch that she was. He always seemed to know what she was thinking with just one look. She could say the same about him. She wondered why everyone thought he was a jerk and master player. She found him easy to read. Maybe because what he was thinking usually the same thing she was.

She didn't know what had been different about that night. Things just... escalated. One minute he had pulled her into his usual comforting embrace that no one else could see. He only ever showed his true colors around her and she was only just beginning to wonder why that was.

The next minute, they were in the depths of a desperate lip lock that had spiked her adrenaline. She didn't know where this sort of behavior came from. Probably the bad influence of Manhattan's resident bad boy. He hadn't wanted to ruin her. That was the thing that was frightening her. He stopped. He knew everything depended on her reputation. But she wanted it.

Now, she was cursing herself for her reckless actions. It was because he knew her better than anyone. He was the only one who saw her for who she truly was and not the cold and unfeeling illusion that she projected. She saw the same in him. He wasn't just a leering sex obsessed fiend. He wanted the same things as she did. He wanted recognition from his father. He didn't want to be neglected.

He had been sweet to her. Sweet to her in his own way. He made her feel beautiful when she felt the whole world was against her. But she knew what she wanted could never come to pass. She knew as soon as it was over, he would go back to his old ways. Boozing and womaninzing. She was just another conquest.

She knew the mistakes she had made had put her reputation in serious danger. He promised he wouldn't say anything. She believed him. She believed him because they were _friends_. But that was before she ruined it. Now things were complicated.

If she were to trust anyone with a secret, it would be him. He would only use it when it was to his advantage. She didn't expect him to use it against her, but then again, she expected him to go on his merry way. So why was he holding her with such closeness as he had before?

She had to go back to _her _old ways. She had to be perfect as everyone preceived. She couldn't let some indiscrection take her down. He wouldn't tell anyone, why would anyone have to know?

But he wasn't leaving like she assumed he would. He seemed to be growing fond of her. He was with his best friend's partner. He wasn't even with his own. That didn't make any sense at all. She told him that it never happened. She thought that's what he wanted. He wouldn't want anyone to know that he had succumbed the ultimate betrayal to his best friend.

They weren't together or anything, but she was here with him. That just wasn't allowed. She tried desperately to ignore her own urges that seemed to have intensified. There was no future for them, even if he did want her again. He was just playing with her. That had to be it. But he wasn't leaving. That's what she was stuck on.

They just spun around the dancefloor, their movements in perfect coordination, like they were two halves of one whole. She didn't like that one bit.

"You must be thinking about the same thing that I am," he whispered seductively.

"And what's that?" She wished she hadn't asked.

"The thing I haven't been able to forget about," he whispered huskily into her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responded flippantly.

"Oh?" he questioned. "Because _I _remember distinctly the... " he paused with a smirk, "indisrections we shared which you seemed... _very _pleased about."

"Okay," she snapped, looking straight into his eyes with her livid ones. "We both agreed that that night never happened. So you're not going to mention it again."

"No," he disagreed. "You said it never happened. I still strongly support how I was the first man to ever touch you." She had the strong urge to slap him across the face. If they weren't in the middle of the crowded dance floor, she would have. But her reputation couldn't take a hit like that.

He felt her stiffen in her arms. He smirked again. That expression was very common tonight. Beneath that cold and unfeeling facade was a beautiful spit fire that he knew only he had seen. And only he could coax to come out.

"I am a lady," she snapped. He smirked. He was finally seeing that fire that he fell for in the first place. "My entire life is based on my reputation. What would happen to me if what you're hinting at ever happens again?"

"So you've thought about it." He couldn't deny it.

He had been fantasizing about it every night since it happened. He was no longer intrigued by the prostitutes that had such good business from him. He no longer enjoyed the loose women who threw themselves at him. He was facsinated by the dark haired beauty with ruby lips.

He loved how she stuck verbal barbs in him that most women weren't intelligent enough to come up with. She was outspoken and manipulative. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

She couldn't admit to herself that she thought about it constantly, let alone the dark and appealing heir to half of New York. She couldn't help but remember how their lips had whispered together, their bodies completely in tune with each other. It seemed perfect. But as soon as that was over, she knew she couldn't ever see him again, no matter how much she longed for it.

"No," she finally said. "I haven't."

"You're lying," he said immediately. He didn't say it with angst, he could just tell.

"I am not," she said edgily. She didn't like how he could completely and unrepentantly read her.

"Your eyes are doing that thing where they don't match your mouth." He couldn't look away from it.

"Maybe you should stop watching me and go back to your _debutante_," she snapped.

She sneered at the word "debutante." Everyone knew who he was escorting. She had as much a reputation as he did. Everyone knew that dark hair and azure eyes were the face of the devil. Not to mention a complete harlot.

"I'd rather be here with you," he shrugged, expertly twirling her around. As she spun, she couldn't help but meet the gaze of the slut in question. She was glaring at her with intensity. It didn't intimidate her. Everyone knew that demon was slightly psychotic. Everyone knew she was that way after she was deflowered. By present company.

"She doesn't feel the same way," she mused. She watched his gaze follow hers to the girl in question. If you could call her that.

"Why?" he asked with a smirk. "Are you jealous?" She immediately scoffed.

"Yes, I am jealous of the loosest socialite in Manhattan."

"I know you have more class than she does," he said.

"Flattery does not become you," she warned. "So why are you here with me? You seem the perfect match. When's the wedding?" She watched his eyes flash in anger with satisfaction. She knew that would draw a reaction from him.

"If I knew she was insane and would feel attached to me, I never would have..." he trailed off.

"Taken her for your own?" She tried to put it in the most delicate phrasing as possible. "You seem to do that with most of the socialites. Soon there won't be any more society girls in Manhattan."

"I would hardly call you a girl," he said suggestively. "You're much more than that."

"If you're so opposed to _girls _who's virtue you've stolen, why are you here with me?" she asked in exasperation.

"I definitely didn't steal anything from you," he grinned. "You gave it up willingly... In that back of my coach, no less."

"Don't remind me," she said, rolling her eyes at her naivity.

"Why not?" he asked, confident leer still on his face. "I haven't been able to think about anything else. And you're hardly like all those other society waifs." She knew that he was aware of what he was doing. He was pulling her in. She always had a constant need to be validated.

"How so?" she relented. There was a pause. He drank in his victory. He could see the win in his sights. She would be his and he didn't want anything else.

"You're intelligent. You're coniving. You are the most manipulative person I have ever met. As scheming as I am. My perfect match." She was about to interrupt but he spoke over her. "All those other girls are worried about getting a society marriage. I know you're different. You have an essence about you that is utterly unique. You have a fire that cannot be manufactured. You make me feel alive, for the first time in my life. You make this life worth it."

He didn't look at her. He didn't want to know her reaction. He didn't want to be rejected once again. She spoke his name softly. He looked deep into her wide brown doe eyes.

"Thanks, man." He started at his best friend's familiar voice. Damn. He knew he had to let her go now, but he couldn't find it in himself to do it.

"You got here just in time," she told his blonde rival in a light voice. "He was trying to have his way with me." His eyes snapped incredulously to her face. He saw something there that made his heart hammer in his ears. She wasn't selling him out. She was sharing a private joke with him. He saw that her gaurd was finally down. He could have had her, only his best friend had the worst timing.

"Oh really?" he escort asked with a laugh. He looked at his unassuming face. He really had no idea. He had no idea how lonely and broken his brunette beauty had been, falling directly into the arms of those who had least excepted it. What he hadn't expected as well, was him falling in turn.

"Don't worry about him." He was still talking. "He's too loyal, no matter the stories you've heard."

He watched her be lead away by her escort. He ignored the penetrating blue eyes that tried to catch his gaze. It had been years ago that he took her virginity. He knew that she was deperately in love with him. At the time, he had no idea what that meant. He just found out.

Love was in an ivory dress on the arm of a perfect man. Love was brunette with the deepest dark eyes that he had ever seen. Lively eyes that were livid one moment and ecstatic the next. Eyes that were looking back in an expression that he couldn't see. Eyes that looked at him reluctantly.

As she looked back at him, being lead away by the seemingly perfect date, she couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety. She didn't like how he was walking away from her. She didn't like how she wasn't sure when she would see him again. She didn't like how that harlot was staring at him.

She looked into the blue eyes of who would probably one day be her fiance. She found herself wanting his cheek bones to elongate, his eyes to slant, a smirk to cross his lips. She found herself wanting all the things that she shouldn't.

That was how she found herself in a deserted hallway of the hotel in a familiar passionate embrace with him. He wasn't blonde or blue eyed. He wasn't a gentleman. But he loved her. He pulled away, his exotic dark eyes searching hers.

"It won't always be like this," he confided in her.

"What won't be?" she asked a breathless curiosity.

"One day," he promised her, "we can actually be together. We won't be hiding around corners."

"When will that be?" she asked.

"I can't say," he admitted. "Maybe in another life," he grinned. "We'll find each other again. I swear it." She smiled pulling him closer.

"I trust you," she said. She knew he wouldn't lead her astray. She knew he was right. They would be able to actually openingly be together. They would find each other again.

* * *

_Its that time of year again. When the mere act of descending a staircase means you're a woman. That's right. Débutante season._

_-Hi, Society_

_--Gossip Girl_


	4. Phantom of the Opera

**A/N**: So this is sort of a combination of what I've been doing lately. It combines my song fics and my past life fics. This is basically an historical AU but a song fic at the same time. Its Phantom of the Opera's Past the Point of No Return. I know that there is already another fic about Phantom, but I was thinking about this song and how it was so Chuck and Blair and this whole thing just came to me. So its pretty much 2x07 Chuck in Real Life, but historical. And it doesn't end in that lame way it did. I also put this in my song fic and In Another Life. Quotes taken from GG and Phantom.

**Summary**: What sweet seduction lies before us?

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine characters and quotes

* * *

_You have come here  
In pursuit of your deepest urge,  
In pursuit of that wish, which till now has been silent,  
Silent . . ._

There was no doubt that Chuck was a predator. He would prowl for her because he knew. From the first moment he saw her, he knew that he would dominate her. It may have sounded callous and domineering, but he would have her. Dwelling in her decadent grace, it was any man's dream. But it was more than that for him.

Society proclaimed that it was not the way. As a man, he was allowed to visit prostitutes and destroy virtue as he saw fit. She on the other hand, had no such luxury. And that, he knew, was why she stayed away from him. She lay in the comfort of her handmaiden's company while at the balls men would vouch for her hand.

There would always be that look. She would dance and she would socialize. Diamonds would adorn her neck and her hair would be in the latest fashions. But she wasn't like the rest of them. He knew that since the first time he saw her. She had a fire in her that Chuck was sure only he was in the possession of. Her eyes would slide to his when no one was looking. And he would see her, the woman that no one else saw. And he liked it.

She wouldn't let him near her. She must have known that her demise was in the form of him because it was. The first time their hands touched, it was electric. And he knew what it was like when she was alone. She was trying to convince herself that he was evil. That he would corrupt and ruin her. But the real secret was that they were the same. No amount of fiancées or perfect suitors could smother and suppress her deepest urge. It was coming and it was only a matter of time before it erupted. And he wanted to be there. He wanted to be there to feel it.

They were alone now. The ball had long since reached its completion. He didn't know why, but it was obvious that tonight was a night unlike any other. The stars hummed their agreement and he felt an energy down in his bones that he had to comply with.

And there she was. Her gown was a violent red that reached the floor. He could only imagine the heaven that lay beneath it.

"I know why you're here," he said with his predatory smirk, circling her like a vulture. She didn't follow him with her eyes like some wounded animal. He crossed her front again and she just looked. No expectations. She was just looking.

"Enlighten me," she said finally.

"You have come in the pursuit of your deepest urge," he said roughly. "Up until now... it has been silent. But its been there."

"You don't know what my pursuit is," she said. This time it was her who was sizing him up.

"Enlighten me," he echoed.

"I have a proposition for you."

_  
I have brought you,  
That our passions may fuse and merge _

Chuck didn't fall in love. Love was dangerous. Love ripped your heart out. And yet, that woman made it seem like it was worth it. That was how she had her suitors bending over backwards for her. Well he wouldn't succumb to her... no matter how much he wanted her to succumb to him.

It was a little much. Since she had told him her proposition, he had realized that it wasn't much of a proposition at all. It was her asking a favor of him. And that just wouldn't do. He wanted to get as good as he gave. And that was good. And only one woman could measure up. She knew it, too.

"What am I doing here?" she had asked. She was hovering in his darkened doorway. This was the only way they could meet. In the dead of night. She couldn't bear to ruin her reputation by even being seen with him, much less having improper conversations alone with him where she shouldn't be.

"I have brought you here," he told her, "to refuse your proposition."

"Why?" she demanded. That was very unladylike of her. She would never let anyone hear her like that. She was uninhibited when she was with him. And it was only a matter of time. "It wouldn't be difficult for you. You do it all the time."

"Not as part of a proposition," he reminded her. "I do it for sport."

"You are truly the most heinous man I have ever laid eyes upon."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said wickedly. "And you didn't let me finish. She's not worth it. She doesn't have a very high status. Taking her for _you_ would mean that you would have to give me something in return."

"Impossible," she replied. "I won't do what you're asking."

"I was going to ask if you had any suggestions..." he hinted. "But it appears that you already have one."

"I don't."

"No," he disagreed. "You do. Its what your beautiful mind has been thinking for some time now. As have I."

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me  
Dropped all defenses  
Completely succumbed to me  
Now you are here with me:  
No second thoughts,  
You've decided,  
Decided . . ._

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"Don't you dare make assumptions," she snapped.

"My, my," he husked, nearing her dangerously. "I have gotten under your skin. I wonder what this low grade girl has done to incur your wrath."

"She has to be destroyed," she replied. "She is threatening my status. You must destroy her."

"I have my condition," Chuck replied coolly. "And the matter of the fact is, its a done deal."

"Excuse me?"

"You have already succumbed to me," he replied in his low tone, nearing her so she was between the wall and him, trapping her with his arm. "You've already decided. As soon as you knew you wanted her ruined, you knew the person to do it. You knew how to get it out of me. You decided then and there. And you've decided now."

"And what makes you think this is true?" she asked shakily.

"You wouldn't have let me get this close anyway. You know what's about to happen. You know how it will end. I will win... and then so will you."

Her dark eyes never left his. He slid his strong hand up her neck, putting his thumb to her chin.

"You look so fragile," he said to her ear. "One motion and I could snap your neck."

"No you couldn't," she disagreed, heat searing from every syllable.

"Aren't you the least bit worried I'll succeed?" he asked curiously. She was far too stoic. He knew that she wanted this. She had as good as decided. But he had to wonder.

"We have an accord," she said begrudingly. But he knew her better than that.

"Oh," he said, almost licking her ear. "We have a deal."

He let her push past him in attempt to make a quick escape. It didn't matter. In a small matter of time, she would be his.

_  
Past the point of no return  
No backward glances:  
_

It would begin tonight. He could feel it. He had laid down all the groundwork and it was to be tonight. He didn't know why he was looking for her. It was just another chance for her to change her mind. But he knew that she wouldn't.

Red was a good color on her. She donned it again tonight, but in a different style. And he would enjoy every moment of peeling it off of her.

"Tonight," he said gutturally in her ear. She stiffened slightly and backed away, not wanting to be caught in the precarious position of consorting with a known playboy. She had a reputation to protect. Then again, so did he. He followed her.

"No backward glances," he told her. "It will happen tonight."

"You are so sure," she whispered curiously.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because she could reject you."

"She won't."

"I am," she replied simply.

He smirked. "Not anymore. Not after tonight."

_The games of make believe are at an end . . ._

He was right. The conquest wasn't much. She was easy to take down, too. Usually society women had some class. Then again, her status wasn't as overwhelming as some. The pleasure was waning. When he was done, he was done.

He stood in the corridor. She was no where to be seen. He didn't even have the tranquility that usually followed. He felt apprehension. He was finally going to get something that he had wanted since he could remember.

Tonight was an ending. But it was also a beginning. He didn't fall in love. He didn't chase after one woman. He saw their bodies and not their entrancing minds. It would figure that this would be different. One last girl before entering the final threshold.

She was alone again. She was waiting for him. He approached from behind her, knowing that she was unaware of his approach. He put his hand on the back of her neck, holding her strongly there. He felt her strain underneath his grasp but he didn't move. His other hand descended her hip, holding her against his.

"We're done playing games," he said hotly into her ear. "Ready or not."_  
_

_Past all thoughts of "if" or "when"  
No use resisting:  
Abandon thought, and let the dream descend . . ._

He had to have known it would be different this time. It was always different. Since he had laid eyes on her, he was different. He was just filling the void, passing time until she would inevitably and surely come to him.

"We're past all of this now, aren't we?" he asked as she hesitated in his doorway. He knew it was an act. He knew every inch of her fiery soul and he knew this was true. Her chest was heaving slightly, as though she couldn't process what was happening around her. He had discarded his jacket and was standing in front of her.

His hand closed around her waist, pulling her in. "No use resisting."

"You finished it?" she asked.

"Of course."

"This is good," she replied, pulling away. But instead of retreating for the door, she entered further into his room.

"It could be more than good," he replied. "Just let is all wash over you. Let it go. Abandon all thought."

"You feel as though I have already succumbed to you?" she asked. "That you have already won. I'm the prize?"

"You are so much more."

"And your true plan," she prompted. "To ruin me."

"You approached me first," he reminded her.

"Then I suppose its just fortunate that it would happen this way."

"I always wanted it to end this way."

_  
What raging fire shall flood the soul?  
What rich desire unlocks its door?  
What sweet seduction lies before us . . .?_

It was a clever game of cat and mouse. It had always been that way. He was empty. It had always been that way. He didn't know what was happening. She was resisting but she had agreed to his terms. She was a complete mystery. And she liked teasing him. She liked taunting him. She liked nearing him so he could feel her sweet breath on his face. She stared into the eyes that were so close to his.

"Did you like it?" They were speaking in such hushed tones that they had to be close. "You liked how she came undone with you? She was at your mercy."

"It was pleasant," he nodded slowly. He didn't know what was going through her head or what she was playing at. She was so complicated. Women weren't supposed to be mysteries. They were supposed to be easy conquests. But for some reason, he didn't want to finish it. He wanted to play with her forever.

Maybe she would let him.

"Is that how you want me?" she asked softly. "To dominate me."

"I want you," he said, pulling at her hair that was done up on her head. "I want you. My equal."

"Is that how you see me?" she asked. "Not just some toy?"

"You never were."

"What makes me so different?"

He brushed some locks that had fallen around her face.

"Your eyes," he said finally. "No one has eyes like you. So intelligent. So passionate. I want to play with you forever. No one knows fire like you and I."

"I suppose you know me, then," she mused.

"I do," he replied. "I know that part of you that is me. But that doesn't mean that I know you. You are a mystery to me."

He leaned forward and put his cheek to her opposite one. "I want so badly to unlock you and feel you."

He noticed with satisfaction how her eyes fluttered to the back of her head. She was perfect.

"I want to feel your perfection."

"I'm not perfect," she said contradictorily.

"You're perfect for me."

His hand slid its way to the front of her bodice.

"Don't you want to know?" he asked seductively. "Don't you want to know me too?"

She let him touch her so intimately and that was almost an answer._  
_

_Past the point of no return,  
The final threshold  
What warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?  
Beyond the point of no return . . ._

"I know you want me," he said, his hands closer to her than any other man. She would never have let any other man get this close, touch her this way. And then she realized.

"I want to know you," he was still whispering. "I want to figure you out. I want to find you from the darkness."

Her eyes were closed.

"Are you there yet?" he asked.

"Where should I be?"

"Where I am," he said into her neck. All he let was his breath brush against her collarbone. But it was more sensual than anything she had ever experienced.

She knew where he was. She didn't know if she could follow him. She didn't know if she should anymore. What was proper and right dissolved into a sea of want and desire. She couldn't see anything anymore.

"I want you," she finally admitted. He pressed his lips to her neck and she knew she was where he was. Like he wanted. Where there was no going back.

"I want you to make me feel alive."

"I can do that," he said in affirmation. "I can make you feel anything. I can make you say anything. I can make you do anything I want."

"I'm there," she said breathlessly. "I'm past the point of no return."

_  
You have brought me  
To that moment where words run dry,  
To that moment where speech disappears into silence,  
Silence . . ._

Blair could feel his scorching eyes searing into her. She couldn't look at him. She couldn't. She knew the terms. She agreed to give something to him that she had never given to anyone else. No other man could possess what she had finally admitted to herself that Chuck possessed. It was her being. She could get married, bear children, have estates and titles, but no one would possess her like he could. No one ever would. No one could ever knew her like he could. And she didn't want them to.

His warm hand scalded the porcelain flesh of her neck. She knew he liked to do that. It made him feel in control. He may have thought that he could hurt her, control her, but it was the immediate information that they were both in possession of that they knew different. She was just like him. She was powerful enough that she could snap him in half too. They completed each other and it was in this instance that she could no longer ignore it.

She turned to face him. It was dark out. She was glad for the retreat of the rest of the court. Not just because it would ruin her reputation. But mainly, she didn't want anyone to see something so dark and private that she shared with another human being she couldn't take it. She couldn't speak. She could only stare. And he could only do the same.

They couldn't speak. There was no need when you could practically read each other's thoughts. There was no need to voice the deep set emotions that were about to run rampant. There was only silence. Silence.

His hot body enveloped hers and she knew she was gone. His scent overwhelmed her and all she could do was submit to his powerful will. She was not being dominated or defeated, but more they were just in possession of each other. The fire would burn them both and they reveled in it.

She let his breath caress her own lips as his fingers dug into her shoulders, not letting her move. His kiss was a beginning. It was shocking and eliminated everything that she had in the past thought was right. His kiss was bruising. He had a force to him and she knew that without a doubt she could match him in full.

_  
I have come here,  
Hardly knowing the reason why . . .  
_

She knew where his room was. She always had. It was something that receded to the edges of her mind as though it were beckoning to put it to use one day.

She knew that he had won. Technically. But it wasn't a bet. It wasn't a game. No, that was over. It was an excuse. And excuse for her to set free something he had awakened in her so long ago. From the first time their eyes had met, she had known that he was different.

He wasn't like the rest of them. He wasn't proper and asked her politely for a dance. He gave demands. She hadn't known what to do but to just submit to his forceful will. There wasn't anything like it.

He would gamble and drink. He would bring to bed any woman that was able. But when he looked at her, she felt different. She didn't feel the need for a proposal and titles. She felt the need for him to touch her. She wanted him to breath life into her because she didn't know any other way. She felt empty. There was no point to this life. Just going through the day of the mundane.

Then he had to ruin everything for her. He made her want things that she never should have wanted. He made her be something. Something worthy of him and something that she altogether hadn't realized existed. And he made her his. He marked her. She could belong to no other man because no other man was him.

That was why she was at his door. She thought. She really wasn't sure. She shouldn't want this. She couldn't want this. You only lay with your husband. But he made her want his approval. She wanted to impress him and make him tremble the way he did to her.

The door slid open with practiced ease, revealing the devil inside and his lair. And the strangest thing was... she wanted it.

_In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining  
Defenseless and silent  
And now I am here with you:  
No second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
Decided . . ._

He receded into the darkness, letting her follow him if she so wished. He was giving her a choice. The devil was giving her a choice. Then again, he was right. She had already decided. She had decided months ago. She had decided when the girl had to be ruined. She decided the moment she saw him. She would give her whole self to him. And he would accept.

Her heels clicked subtlety on the floor of his room. She saw his discarded jacket over a chair haphazardly. Like he didn't care about appearances at all when she knew in fact that he had probably took time to make sure it looked lazy.

It was his scent, she decided. That was what in the end had reeled her in. He was so intoxicating. She couldn't understand it, couldn't process it. It was utterly confusing. She didn't do this with men. If anything, she let him kiss her hand and just send them on their way.

Then... there were the dreams. They would plague her forever in her mind, urging her forward with something that seemed so utterly wrong that she just had to do it. She would feel his heat around her, devouring her with such a hunger, all she could do was bite back.

She could feel him. The way she wanted him. They way that she didn't have him yet. Her fantasies. Sprawled on her own bed, he would stretch out before her, pulling her in for a kiss. Her lips would scald from his taste, driving her wild with a passion she didn't know existed. He would throw her down, her head thrown back. She felt like she was caught in this drift of slow motion, his hands braced on either side of her. Him pulling on her lips with his own. Her hands would clutch at his collar.

She could already imagine their bodies entwined.

"No use resisting," he husked in her ear. She could already feel him. How he would violate her with his touch. How it was a violation that she would welcome gladly because she was just like him. She would dwell in the evil and the darkness because that was who they were.

"No second thoughts."

His hands were on her. And she wanted him to feel her.

"I've decided," she told him.

And her imagination would soon become real.

_  
Past the point of no return  
No going back now:  
Our passion-play has now, at last, begun . . ._

"Are you going to play games with me?" she asked as his hands descended her bodice. His adept fingers toyed with the strings that were holding her together.

"You've destroyed her. What now?"

"What we both want," he said in a sultry whisper. "I may play games, and I may play games with you. But I never play them against you."

They were both breathing heavily, but still fully clothed. Just being in this furnace of emotion was burning them through and through.

She steadied herself by laying her hands on his neck. They were so close and yet so far. They were still miles away. And all it would take to join would be one final motion.

"There's no going back now," she knew.

"Are you afraid that I will leave?" he asked.

"Would you?"

"Not now," he swallowed heatedly. "Not ever."

She didn't know why there were beads of sweat rolling down her shoulder blades. It couldn't be that hot. When when she touched his skin, she sizzled. She gloried in the sparks that fired through both of them._  
_

_Past all thought of right or wrong  
One final question:  
How long should we two wait, before we're one . . .?  
When will the blood begin to race  
The sleeping bud burst into bloom?  
When will the flames, at last, consume us . . .?_

She backed away from him now. His hands clutched for her fingers as she slid from his grasp.

"How long am I to wait?"

She knew this took him by surprise. She was doing her best. She had to put on a cold facade to protect herself from him. She didn't know what he was feeling, how he was taking this. This was so overwhelming for her and she didn't know what it meant to him. She could just be another one of them. Foolish enough to let him enter them so passionately just to be left in the dust a few hours later.

"Wait..." he murmured.

"Do you enjoy torturing me?" she asked.

"You've been torturing me forever. I have coveted you when I had no right to. And I won't end this tonight. I can't."

There was her answer.

"You've made me wait for so long," she told him.

"If you thought that was long," he said pulling her towards him again, "you have no idea what you're in for."

Then it happened. His scalding kiss and she was back on his bed. She let him kiss her once and they were horizontal, shuddering as the moments swallowed them whole.

"I would wait for you," she told him between kisses. His vulgarity and obvious arousal didn't seem to faze her.

"I think I'm on fire," she gasped into his neck when his fingers found their way into her hair. "I feel like I'm on fire."

"I can feel it," he said into her hair. Her nails turned down, piercing him through his shirt.

"I can't wait any longer, either," he told her.

"I want you to consume me."

And he knew he had to.

_  
Past the point of no return  
The final threshold  
The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn . . .  
We've passed the point of no return . . . _

"I'm gone," Blair whispered to Chuck. He stared into her eyes.

"Good."

Their lips met with even more intensity.

It was better than she could have imagined. He roughly pulled at her hair and it spilled dark waves down her spine as her body arched into his.

It was hot and fiery and Blair couldn't contain herself.

His bed.

That in itself should have worried her. A man's bed was a place that she should not be. She was a lady. But she felt his hard body against hers and she just didn't care. He finally tore the laces from her corset and she freed herself from it.

Oxygen couldn't seem to get to her brain fast enough. Chuck was devouring her neck, consuming her like she wanted. His teeth were hard against her soft flesh and her fingers tightened around the back of his neck, leaving a harsh mark.

Teeth scraped against flesh and she was marked for life. Marked as his. And he was hers.

They melted into each other like that was what they were born for. He licked the sweat from her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. It had never been like this for him. He would bed women and then cut them lose. But she was different. Those women were weak. She was strong. She was him. And he was her.

And they burst into flames.

* * *

Chuck: Waving the white flag, are we?

Blair: Not exactly. I have a proposition for you.

...

Blair: You promised to seduce Vanessa. She needs to be destroyed.

Chuck: She's your problem. Humphrey doesn't warrant this.

Blair: The great Chuck Bass is just going to give up.

Chuck: No, no, no. There's no shame if the prize isn't worth it. You can do your own dirty work. There's not enough in it for me.

Blair: Well what if I made it worth it?

Chuck: What are you talking about?

Blair: I think you know.

Chuck: You're not serious. My, my. That girl has gotten under your skin.

Blair: The question is, Bass, will you?

Chuck: Aren't you the least bit worried I'll succeed?

Blair: Do we have an agreement?  
Chuck: Oh, we have a deal.

...

Chuck: Say it.

Blair: Say what? I'll say anything.

...

Gossip Girl: One thing about making a deal with the devil... he always comes to collect.

...

Blair: What took you so long?

Chuck: If you thought that was long, you have no idea what you're in for.


	5. King Henry VIII

**Summary**: He took her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, sealing their fate. She was about to turn when he held steadfast. "And my lady?" She turned reluctantly. "The devil always comes to collect."

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine. Characters belong to Gossip Girl and inspiration comes wildly from The Tudors.

* * *

The Duke glowered at the messenger's retreating form. He didn't want to open the package, fearing what it contained. But the letter on top of it in her stylized handwriting proved exactly what he knew was true. He flicked open the carrier and sat back with a grimace.

He broke the seal on the letter. He could practically hear her breathy voice in his ear. If only he wasn't plagued by her alluring voice. He didn't want this. He didn't want to be sending ladies of the Queen gifts just to have them rejected.

He bedded women. That was what he did. He didn't try to woo and court them. And even if he did, they surely would not refuse him. Every lady at court desired him. But the one that he was realizing he couldn't live without was the one who wouldn't have him.

He would get her for this.

_White Palace, England_

_The Reign of King Henry VIII_

The Duke wanted to hate her. He truly did. But when she returned to court, the first toss of her dark glossy curls and flirtatious smile, he was gone. He drank his wine, leering at her from across the room. Though she showed no sign of even knowing he was there, he knew different. He knew the sweep of her skirts and that the courtier's hands on her was for his benefit. It would have been so much easier if she wasn't his match. If it didn't seem like she was made for him specifically. Then again, if she wasn't, she wouldn't be worth the trouble either. If she wasn't, he wouldn't need her so much.

"I assume you received my gifts," he whispered huskily to her. He watched her cinched waist stall for a moment in satisfaction as her breathing slowed. Then she twirled to him, her skirts fanning across the dance floor and met his eyes with her electric dark ones.

"I receive so many," she said nonchalantly. She danced properly around him as he followed her with interested eyes. "Maybe I would recollect if there was something to remember."

He grasped her wrist in realization, pulling her around.

"Your Grace," she said reproachfully. He released her but held her gaze powerfully.

"If there is one thing you must learn," he cautioned, "it is that you do not play with me."

"But, whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently. He wanted to kiss that innocent look right off her face. He knew what really lay beneath. He grasped her waist in front of everyone, against all sense of propriety. He liked how her breath rushed from her lungs. He liked catching her by surprise.

"You can't win," he said smugly.

"Oh, Your Grace," she said sweetly, extricating herself subtly, craftily making sure that she wasn't catching attention to them. "I always win."

With a simple smile tossed over her shoulder she glided across the room. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. He never could.

The first time he saw her, she could have just been another lady of the court. She was new and she was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. Men's eyes followed her as she danced and she had suitors if she wanted them. Strangely, she turned them all down. She would dance with them and tease them, but that was it.

That was the first thing he had to be cautious about this. His King Henry may let himself be seduced by a pair of legs, but the Duke knew better. As he watched her dance, he knew this was the sign of an ambitious woman. And ambitious women was a dangerous woman. They thought with their heads and never let themselves be seduced unless there was power and position in it for them.

This was the age of Anne Boleyn. It was a dangerous time. Already she sat on the queen's throne and wore her jewels like she was coronated already. The Duke knew what he was doing. He had to. It was his duty. He was manipulative and vain. The problem was, so was _she_. She had that air of purity, but he knew better. That was what attracted his soul to hers. He never felt a pull like this. He knew attraction and he knew want for women. But he never knew the complete desire of losing himself in someone as perfect as she.

She could have been like the rest of them. But she just wasn't. She followed the queen and avoided persecution. No lady was trusted these days. Anne Boleyn made sure of that. But she curtsied in front of the king's table, paying her respects. Her eyes then slid carefully to the Duke's and he saw the darkest beauty he could have ever imagined. And it was intoxicating.

He was pulled towards her, but he hadn't realized what was happening until he saw it with his own eyes. She was sitting primly with another golden lady when something inconceivable happened. A lady in waiting had burst into tears across the room. This was strange, but wouldn't have been a rare occurrence. The next day, that same lady had been persecuted and left court. That very same day, the hierarchy shifted. Taking the lady's place was the dark eyed vixen that he realized was among the ranks.

That was the day he would never be able to look away. He was enamored and he had to meet her. He had to speak with her. He had to know her.

"My lady," he said suavely, brushing his lips across her hand in his deep vow. "Allow me to introduce myself."

"I know who you are, Your Grace."

He was taken aback. No one, a lady no less, had ever interrupted him. She didn't seem intimidated. She didn't seem willing to fall at his feet. She was just looking at him expectantly like it was he who she was expecting to fall at her feet.

He wasn't too sure of this game, but he knew he could figure it out. Instead, he just gave her the most genuine smirk he could muster.

"May I have this dance?"

"If you must," she sighed. His eyes narrowed in confusion again, but he lead her onto the dance floor nonetheless. They danced familiarly around each other like they had been doing all there lives. They were choreographed dances but it seemed as though they could measure each other beat for beat. They knew each other's movements like they knew their own. She just lifted her chin defiantly, waiting for his next move.

"You are very talented."

He was going to try his way with flattery. Women were easy.

"I know."

Again, he faltered and gazed on her face at the flicker of smug satisfaction across it. Women were supposed to be coy and blushing. It was then he realized how very bored he was with the noblewomen. He wanted someone different. Someone like him, if that made any sense. Someone... intoxicating.

"Thank you for the dance, Your Grace," she said, curtsying politely. She knew the game very well. He liked that. "I'll try to not let it flee too quickly from my mind."

He didn't like that. He could feel her magnetism, but he couldn't stop himself. He never let any woman speak to him this way. Its what he did. But he couldn't help it.

"At least tell me your name," he commanded. It wasn't a question. And when he told to do something, women did it.

She just gave him a curious look and a wicked smile flashed across her lips. "No."

And she was gone.

That was when he realized he would get her if it was the last thing he did.

He was still trying. He knew her name now, through weeks of strenuous effort, but he was barely closer to his goal. He was pleased that they were at least acquaintances at this point. He could at least speak to her. She didn't like how greatly it pleased him to do so. It was the verbal barbs and badinage that were unlike anything he experienced before.

He usually didn't put in this effort. Women were women and they were just playthings. If he didn't get a women immediately, he just moved on to the next one. But something told him this one was different. She wasn't like the others. And he would regret it if he didn't pursue her wholeheartedly.

And then she had turned to him.

"I need you to do something for me."

He turned with smugness, watching her carefully. "And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"I have a bit of a problem."

"That much is certain," he replied to the empty corridor. "Do go on."

"There is a situation with one of the knew ladies," she replied. "I need you to rid of her for me."

"And what do you suggest, my lady?" he asked coolly. She glared at him.

"Your Grace," she snapped in annoyance.

"Have I ever mentioned how alluring my title is when it comes from your lips?"

"Will you do it or not?" she asked.

"How about a wager instead?" he suggested.

"A wager?" she echoed.

"I do not accomplish it is what you want me to do, then I leave you alone forever."

Her eyes never shifted.

"If I succeed, you spend the night with me."

"I will not," she retorted.

The Duke smirked at her sudden defense. This was good. This was very good.

"Then I am afraid I cannot accommodate you."

He watched her take a deep breath, carefully weighing her options. It was fascinating.

"How about something else?"

"Which would be?" he prodded.

"I would be indebted to you," she said without assurance.

"And what would that entail?" he asked.

He watched as her eyes wavered. It felt refreshing to have her in this end of the spectrum. He had her and she knew it.

"I would be in your debt," she reworded. He understood. She could never admit that what he wanted from her he could take when the time was right. Ladies didn't do that. But she was his lady and his lady definitely did that.

"That sounds... intriguing," he replied. "I will take you up on this offer from the sole fact I'm bored. And this is something to entertain me for the time being."

"Do you accept?" she asked.

"Wholeheartedly," he replied. He took her hand to his lips and kissed it gently, sealing their fate. She was about to turn when he held steadfast. "And my lady?" She turned reluctantly. "The devil always comes to collect."

She raised her face, but he knew that she was aware of this weight. He liked it that way.

He didn't know how long it had been, but time did nothing to make him less uncomfortable. Rejecting his gifts was one thing, but she left him at the ball and that would not stand. He would corner her. He would trap her. He would devour her. That bet was looking better and better.

He had done what she said. He helped her destroy whatever matron was necessary and her social status increased. She was ambitious but then again, so was she. Destroying a woman's repuatation was so easy. They were warming your bed for one moment and then they were cast out for all the world to see. He liked how her eyes appraised him and shone with appreciation. He would make her look like that again.

She continued to tease him. He hated how he loved it. She would flounce around with suitors as though she knew it drove him insane. He didn't know why he did the things he did. He didn't know why he vouched for her affection or loved the temper that flared solely because of him.

The ladies looked at him quizzically as he entered their quarters. Soon, those expressions fell away and became ones of reverence. Only three words needed to be uttered.

"Where is she?"

It had become sport of the court to watch the two fiery souls dance around each other for some time. No one understood it, but there could be only one person The Duke could be referring to.

"In her quarters, Your Grace."

He walked down the hallway, pausing outside of her door. He didn't bother knocking. She was beneath him and she would value the attention he was giving her. He threw the door open. She was at her vanity, lightly brushing her dark glossy locks. She spun in her chair, immediate anger flaring from her eyes. At the sight of him, her expression changed to more rage. This pleased him.

"My lady," he bowed gracefully.

"I don't recall sending for you," she replied, slowly getting to her feet.

"You don't call for me," he told her shortly. "I call for you."

"Apparently not," she said smugly. "If you don't mind, I would rather you not be here without a chaperon."

"I rather think not," he replied. "I think you would enjoy me very much without a chaperon here."

"And why would that be?"

He smirked. It was the perfect opening. But that wasn't why he was here. He had to win her first. He had to prove himself first.

"I have come to give you something."

Her eyes sparked interest, but she tried to wipe it away.

"If you must," she sighed. He liked her when she was pretending to be disinterested. He advanced with his predatory grace and she watched him warily. They both stood in front of her floor length mirror.

"Turn around," he whispered in her ear. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and pivoted her slightly so she was facing the mirror with him behind her.

"Now, close your eyes."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Just do as I tell you," he said, almost in annoyance. He wasn't used to anyone refusing him. It was a strange occurrence but when she looked upon him with defiance, he couldn't help but want more.

"Why?" she asked again.

"Because you are in my debt," he reminded her. Realization crossed her face but she held steadfast.

"This is what you want?" she asked simply. "You could have everything and the one thing you ask for is to give me something?"

"What if this is everything?" he couldn't help but asking. He didn't know where it came from, but he knew it was right. He knew this was what he wanted. He could take her now if he wanted and maybe she wouldn't protest. She could probably talk herself out of it, but she wouldn't upset the terms of the wager.

She frowned at him through the reflection so he brought his hands and placed them over her eyes. She allowed this, to his surprise, and he suddenly wondered how far she was willing to let this continue. He couldn't help but bring his hands to her bare shoulders. He felt her shiver beneath his touch.

He slid open the box that held the necklace. He placed it over her chest, clasping it at the nape of her neck. He gazed at it for a second too long. He didn't have weakness. Even if her neck would have looked better with his lips upon it.

With her eyes still closed, she brought her hand to the glittering jewels, feeling them with a slight smile playing across her beautiful features.

"You can open your eyes now," he suggested. Her dark eyes fluttered open and they gazed at each other. Her eyes finally dipped and she fingered the necklace with adoration.

"So you can't send it back," he explained. "Do you like it?"

"I think its beautiful," she admitted.

"It is," he said, looking back at her pointedly, not the necklace. "Its for you."

She looked over her shoulder, casting the necklace in the glowing light. He saw her real eyes and couldn't help but lean in. She could scream and be done with it. But for the first time, she didn't protest.

His right hand clenched at her narrow waist while his left grasped at the delicate skin of her pale shoulder. She forced herself to turn around to face him fully. Her hand grasped his face and she was suddenly gasping for breath. He pulled her flush against his body and she gasped again. She gasped a word he couldn't understand.

"Why?"

He forced himself to break from the addiction of her lips.

"What?" he asked, desperate to be touching her again.

"Why me?"

He shook his head in confusion.

"You could have anyone you wanted," she clarified. "Is this just some game? Because it was to me."

He had to stop the angry flash that coursed through him for a moment. He refused to be a game.

"I tried to stay away from you because I knew all too well that if I tried to gain you, I would fall for you instead."

His shoulders relaxed but something still bothered him.

"And I know you, Your Grace," she said breathily. "Women aren't anything to you. I know this. I couldn't let myself be one of them."

"You're not," he said. It was true. He had finally said it. She was different. She belonged to him now.

"What makes me different?" she prodded.

"Everything," he said. "You're vain and manipulative and perfect. Don't compare yourself to those girls because you're nothing like them."

That seemed to be enough because she finally let him in. For now.

...

Agony was him. Pain was this. And hurt was her. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. The messenger had to be wrong. But then again, he heard the words and there would be no doubting it.

_You are to escort the lady and her dowry to her new husband._

It couldn't be. She couldn't be getting married. She was his. She belonged to him, this he was sure of. There was no other alternative.

His feet beat to their own accord as he found himself at her door again. There would be no knocking. There would be no conceding. The door banged on its hinges and her handmaidens jumped. This time, she didn't whirl to greet him. She didn't have to. He could see it.

Her breathing was shaky and her hands were trembling. She was taking in shuddering gasps of breath, her face blotchy. With a tremor of her hand, the handmaidens were dismissed. He knelt by her bed where she sat. He took her cold hands in his, trying to sooth her. She refused to look him in the face. He brought tender hands to her face, wiping away her tears.

"You're crying," he whispered.

"Of course I'm crying," she shouted, shaking him off as she got to her feet. "How could you do this to me?"

"Me?" he demanded angrily, getting to his feet. "You're going off with a dowry and a husband."

"And you have _ruined_ me," she snapped. "How can I go off and get married with a husband and I title when I will forever want something I can never have? I'm not supposed to fall in love but you made me do it anyway."

The Duke stood there stunned. She recoiled, realizing her mistake. He could tell she was about to flee. He took domineering steps towards her and grasped her by the wrists. She cried out and he pressed her against her dresser, muffling her cries with his hand.

"Don't," he warned. Her eyes glowed with defiance but didn't protest. He removed his hand, his body hard against hers. She was breathing heavily, catching the attention of his eyes to the necklace that he didn't know how he could have missed. He brought his hand to her fragile throat, feeling her blood pulse. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his.

"What would you have me do?" she asked breathlessly.

"Marry me."

He didn't even know that was in the recession of his mind. He didn't even know it was what he wanted. He wanted heirs of course, but he never knew that love would be involved. He never knew he would actually love a woman. Love wasn't involved in this life of theirs. Those who were fortunate enough, or cursed enough to fall in love had to be in the good graces of the king to marry the one they wanted. Only the king granted permission for marriage. And now she was promised to someone else.

"Marry me instead."

"No."

He was so surprised, she found the way to slide from his grip. He turned as she stood in front of the bed.

"No?" he demanded. No one said no to him. Especially now.

"Don't you dare do this to me," she seethed. "Don't you dare toy with me. I could be content with power and position."

"I can give you all of that," he said. "All of that and more. I will always give you more."

"I could be content with bearing sons to some stranger," she continued. "But not anymore. Not when I've had a taste of something that was not supposed to happen. Now I can't be content with anything else."

"Then marry me," he demanded of her.

"You expect me to risk everything and I don't even know if your feelings are pure."

"I told you," he snapped. "I told you that you are everything. There is no one like you."

"You love me?" she asked, in astonishment.

"Forever," he promised.

Their bodies were suddenly hard against each other's. She was purring wildly in his ear and he could feel the heat through the layers of her dress.

He wanted it off.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as their teeth and lips gnashed together. She broke away, gasping wildly for air as he descended powerfully down her neck. She yelped as she felt his teeth sink into her flesh.

They both pulled away and for a second, they just stared eons into each other's eyes.

But only for a second.

The Duke through her down on her bed, her hair sprawled out across it. He pinned her arms above her head, holding her in place.

"Marry me instead," he commanded.

"Yes."

His heart thudded through his chest and he crushed her beneath him. He tore apart her corset, riding her skirts up her pale thighs. His groans were audible and thick from the back of his throat. He pulled his shirt over his head and returned his attention to her willing body.

They moved together passionately and her nails raked down his naked back. He called out in the sweet pain laced pleasure as her lips soothed his neck.

"Satiate me," he told her huskily to her neck.

"I don't know how," she answered honestly. He pulled away to look at her desire filled eyes, his lips pulling back in a smirk.

"You do," he answered throwing himself against her again. "You always do."

She was the only one.

Even when he broke her barrier, she called out his name and he had never heard it sound any better. Even when he broke her barrier, she called out, driving him to the edge and beyond.

* * *

_Anne Boleyn thought only with her heart and she got her head chopped off. So her daughter Elizabeth made a vow never to marry a man. She married a country._

_-Blair Waldorf_

_-- The Goodbye Gossip Girl_

* * *

A/N: So this is way inspired by The Tudors. I was watching clips (since I don't have HBO) while I was writing this. I don't know if anyone watches it, but the first part was inspired by Anne sending gifts back to Henry. The dance was meant to be like the one Anne and Henry do in the second season, 7th episode; or it could just be like the one Margaret and Charles Brandon (court's version of Chuck and Blair) do when she's coronated as the Queen of Portugal after her wedding. The whole marriage thing was also Charles and Margaret. And the end scene (sex!) was inspired by the intensity and hotness of Ann and Henry after that dance. Especially the nails raking down the back as well as when Chuck said he still had the scars to prove that Blair was a bitch. I hope this isn't too confusing. Its sort out of continuity by The Duke's (obviously Chuck) memories. I was thining of making this a two-parter. I know the SL already and how it would end. This is my favorite chapter so far, along with the Debutante one. I said I was only going to do another chapter but I was inspired. There could just be one more, but I never know when my muse will hit me. So I'll probably do another chapter with this and I'm also considering making this concept into an entire multi-foc by itself.


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